


Corrupted

by Littlevera



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-21 04:46:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlevera/pseuds/Littlevera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love corrupts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corrupted

Spock is alone.

Looking at the empty room before him, he only just manages to stave off the emptiness settling over him. He is quite adept at ignoring that which he can no longer change. It is midday and his class has just ended. He lingered at the front as his students filed out silently, waiting for questions that did not come until he is left facing rows of empty seats. His students are Vulcan and ask their questions during class, so he should know better than to indulge this left-over habit of waiting for questions. He still carries it from his time as a teacher at Starfleet Academy.

He knows he will always wait, just in case. He has nowhere else to be.

Spock gathers his data-pads before he leaves and switches off the lights. He walks the halls swiftly, weaving his way through the students with practiced ease. They converse around him in muted, quiet tones without the ebullience of Starfleet Academy cadets; something else he finds he misses.

In the beginning of his time here, he worked hard to convince himself to live in the present and to leave his past behind, but he did not succeed. He still longs for his reality. Regret follows that thought, before Spock reins himself in and tries to focus on the present.

He has no other classes this day, and only a staff meeting late in the afternoon. There is time for a midday meal and meditation before the meeting, he thinks, as he plans out the rest of his afternoon. It is no different from the previous week, but Spock finds he values the routine of his days. It offers a steadiness, a purpose that grounds him in this reality. It matters little that his days will be the same next week and the week after that. Everyone else here has their place in this reality; this is his.

Perhaps, he will have time to visit Sarek as well, he thinks, before he dismisses that thought. He cannot claim the other’s time as much as he has been, for Sarek’s duties in this new colony have increased over the years. He serves as a roving Ambassador to several planets on Vulcan’s behalf, overseeing issues of note until the roles can be assigned to people permanently. While this reality’s Sarek is very different from his own father, Spock finds they are better friends than he thought they would be. It is at Sarek’s insistence that he is considering returning to a role in diplomacy. Spock quashes a sigh. That is not entirely correct. He listened to Sarek’s arguments for his return to a role in diplomacy, but the mantle of Ambassador does not feel as if it his to wear any longer, even though he is often referred to as such by those who know his true identity. His young counterpart is already laying claim to that role, having attended the Babel Conference at his father’s request and successfully negotiating Coridian’s admission to the Federation. Watching someone else live his life and lay claim to his destiny is easier said than done.

Outside, the sun beats down relentlessly on the Academy grounds. It is the height of the warmest season and his surroundings shimmer in the heat haze. Spock makes his way along the pathways to the square set in the centre of the grounds. It is the shortest way home for him from the main building of the Academy and he keeps to the cooler shade of the covered pathways instead of cutting across the square as he usually does.

He begins running through his lesson plans for the next day, when his temples begin to throb. Spock pauses, squeezing the bridge of his nose. Perhaps it is the sun, he thinks; it has been a warmer season than usual. Spock continues, but now a lethargy settles over him and his limbs feel heavy and uncooperative. He squeezes his eyes shut and wonders if perhaps a visit to the Medical Corps Office on campus is in order. He knows he should not have this sort of reaction to…that train of though vanishes when he recognizes Starfleet red shining like a beacon in the square.

Command red, a colour not yet used in this reality.

Jim Kirk is standing in the shadow of the stone memorial in the centre of the square.

His Jim Kirk.

Spock stops short.

Jim. The name burns in his mind, razing everything in its path until all Spock sees, thinks, is Jim. His data-pads threaten to slip out of his grasp, but at the last moment he holds fast onto them, the edges cutting into his palms. When he looks up, Jim is still there.

“Jim,” he whispers. The name feels new again, as if he is saying it for the first time. A group of students move past Jim across the square, obscuring him from his view. Spock gasps, sure that Jim will be gone when they have passed…but he is still there.

Spock looks at Jim; he is looking at Jim.

His mind balks at that, his chest hurting from the ache of being able to do something so simple as looking at Jim. Spock knows the universe is infinite enough for there to be all manner of explanations for Jim returning to him like this, and his logic strains to find the reason, demands an explanation, for there has to be one …while his heart ignores all these questions because this is… Jim. Spock swallows a painful gasp, his teeth cutting into his lower lip. His heart, unused for so long, feels like it is stuttering to life again at the sight of him. Jim, he thinks again, before he feels his eyes well. Spock brushes them brusquely, as he tries in vain to control his emotions. He reaches out to the nearest pillar along the pathway, dimly realizing the throbbing in his head is gone. The stone underneath his fingertips is blessedly real and it grounds him. It lets him focus on Jim again.

He looks as he did the morning he left for the Enterprise B, the last memory Spock has of him. The gold of his rank insignia on his dress uniform glints in the sunlight, his hair newly shorn for the occasion. He had said at the time that he didn’t want anyone to think he wasn’t supporting a new Enterprise and Captain, but Spock could hear the strain in his voice. He never wanted to give her up. By the end of the day, Spock had been the one left behind, and the one to let them both go, or try to at least.

Spock watches as Jim undoes the epaulette of his jacket and shrugs out of it. He ventures forward then, afraid if he moves too fast Jim will disappear like the ghost he should be. He is out of Jim’s direct line of sight and he knows he should call for him, but his throat does not work. Jim catches the attention of a Vulcan passing by and Spock is blinded by a bright, familiar smile before a short conversation ensues. Jim’s smile falters from whatever is said before the Vulcan leaves. Jim looks around confused, before he returns to his spot in the shadow of the memorial and waits. Spock increases his speed across the square until he is close enough to see the damp hair at the back of Jim’s neck. Spock can see the grey scattered in it.

He’s real.

His data-pads slip out of his grasp then, clattering to the ground and… then Jim turns around and looks at him.

Spock finds he is drowning in warm, brown eyes. A long, shuddering breath leaves his body, his lungs burning from the effort. He sees home in Jim’s eyes, a lifetime he spent at Jim’s side. Spock feels alive, like he hasn’t been since he lost him.

And, Spock sees how much Jim loves him.

That is what breaks him; breaks his heart when he sees what he has been missing all these decades before him. The gaping hole where Jim resided, scabbed over by time, is raw again, but this time he welcomes it because Jim is here.

It is Jim that brings them together when he crosses the last few feet to Spock. Jim is reaching for him when Spock sees the moment that he realizes that they are in public, and forcibly restrains himself. Instead, the movement becomes an awkward retrieval of his fallen data-pads before Jim hands them to Spock. They hold the pads between them, linked for the moment through them and Spock feels every one of his nerve-endings on fire in this man’s presence.

“Spock.”

Spock trembles at his name in that voice. Jim smiles and Spock soaks it in as if it were sunlight. Let this be Jim, Spock thinks, please let this be Jim. Jim lets the data-pads go and Spock clutches them to his chest. Jim comes closer, his eyes so very wide and broadcasting his nervousness to anyone who knows him. He purses his lips, an indication of a decision made, Spock realizes, before Jim offers him two fingers extended between their bodies. Spock whimpers at the ozh'esta, before he lifts his hand to meet Jim’s. Like his own, Jim’s hands are shaking and when they touch everything explodes in Spock’s mind; lovesurprisefeargrief and he stumbles back from the force of it.

“Are you alright?” Jim whispers, so close now with his hand on Spock’s arm, steadying him. His voice is strained, but his concern is clearly for Spock. Spock feels his fingers digging into the soft flesh of his arm while Jim’s other hand still hangs in the air between them, fingers half curled as if he’s hoping for more. Spock is tempted, his own hand rising for Jim’s before he lowers it. Not here, not like this, he thinks. Jim’s hand falls when his does.

“Spock…” Jim whispers, his voice trailing off before his expression crumbles, and Spock sees grief and relief settle over his face. “I missed you.” Spock inhales sharply at Jim’s confession, the sentiment and Jim’s voice crashing over him. Jim lets him go, but keeps as close. “Say something.”

“Jim,” Spock breathes, all he can manage for the moment. The word is different now. It has a different colour, feel, taste to Spock, from every other time he’s used it in this reality. There is no regret, not any more. A smile blooms over Jim’s face, the kind that Spock made his mission to elicit every time he could. “You’re here. How?”

“Yes,” Jim replies, before his expression sobers. “I don’t know how. I was helping Picard defeat Soran, and then everything went black.” Horrified realization fills his eyes before he manages to continue. “I… died, Spock, I died.” Jim shudders at that, unable to completely compose himself after. “And now, I’m here.” He pales, the blood leaving his face rapidly, “Spock, I just … appeared here. In this square. It’s like I woke up on this square, and I knew I had to wait for you here. I knew it.”

Spock’s concern grows at that revelation. He looks around the square, at the Vulcans going about their day without any indication that they witnessed Jim’s appearance.

“Who could do this, Spock? Who could put me here…” Jim frowns, looking around confused. “Wait, where is ‘here’? Where are we? We’re not supposed to be here.” The last is a statement, not a question.

“No,” Spock croaks, marvelling at the intuitive way Jim’s mind works. “This is an alternate universe.” Jim’s eyes widen, comically so, but Spock just shakes his head. “It is a long story, Jim.” His hands itch to touch Jim again, to thread his fingers through his hair. He almost does, but Jim looks around clearly anxious.

“What is it?” Spock asks. “Do you think someone could still be here?” Jim’s expression tightens, his uncertainty obvious. Spock cannot help the concern in his own voice. Someone or something did this, brought him back, so it is logical to assume they might still be watching, waiting to see the outcome of their actions.

“I think so,” Jim says, still looking around them. “We need to talk more…but not…here.” There is fear in Jim, and Spock’s instincts, as always, are to protect him.

“Come,” he says, turning around and gesturing for Jim to follow him to his apartment. It is not far from the Academy, something he is grateful for as Jim grows more anxious as they continue on their way. Rivulets of sweat trace a path along Jim’s neck to below his collar.

Jim, Spock thinks, the name pounding against his skull.

Jim.

Spock leans against Jim, their shoulders touching briefly. Jim turns and Spock sees his anxiousness leave him. His expression softens, the corners of his eyes deepening as his lips curl upward. Together, they can face whatever comes, Spock thinks, falling into the delight in Jim’s eyes. They continue along the stone gardens, through the rest of the grounds to the main streets bordering the campus, drawing apart and together like magnets the entire way. Vulcans pass them without a second glance, and Spock cannot fathom how they can, for everything is different now. He glances at Jim surreptitiously as he surveys the cacti garden along the path to the street. His surprise and confusion is obvious. Jim stops short at the sign at the Academy’s main gates. He knows enough of the Vulcan language to understand that it proclaims this the “Vulcan Science Academy”.

“Spock, how can this be Vulcan in this reality? Is this really the Science Academy?” Jim asks, his voice hoarse in disbelief. He gestures back at the buildings behind them. The Academy of their reality is a collection of majestic buildings, some of which are Vulcan’s oldest. What lies behind them are new, modern buildings that Spock privately thinks are colourless and without character. “What happened?” Spock would prefer telling this story in the safety of his apartment, but Jim objects and so he begins to tell the story of his presence in this reality.

Several times on their way to his apartment, Jim stops in surprise at the contents of his tale. He hesitates when it comes to the death of his planet, but the back of Jim’s hand brushes his, fingers latching on to his own and offering comfort as they walk. Spock feels sorrow and then love through the contact before Jim lets him go. These are just surface thoughts, but the taste of them makes him want to do nothing more than to dive into Jim’s mind, to feel that which he loved so, again. Instead, Jim prods him to continue, forcing him back to reality. When he comes to their counterparts here, Jim’s eyebrows rise into his hairline, amused curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“Are they…” he gestures between the two of them, encompassing their relationship. Spock stills abruptly, sure that Jim must see how uncomfortable the question makes him, but all there is in the other man is curiosity. He should have anticipated this question, Spock thinks, as he tightens his control over his emotions.

“No, they are not,” he replies, hoping his voice sounds normal. “But I think they will find their way to their destiny.” Jim’s amusement dies at his response and Spock momentarily thinks he is going to say something, but he just looks away, a troubled expression on his face. Before Spock can question that, he registers that Jim is flushed after being out in the sun so long. It is difficult for Humans to handle for the first time.

“We’re almost there,” Spock says, tugging Jim’s elbow to cross the street. Jim follows silently, the flush deepening. “The seasons here are 17.6 percent more warmer than on Vulcan,” Spock continues, “and Humans require some time before they acclimate to it.” Jim gives no sign that he’s heard anything Spock has said. Spock quickens their pace to his building, his concern for Jim growing. He keys in his access code and ushers Jim in before him. Once inside, Jim gasps in relief in the cool air. Spock gives him a few moments to compose himself, before Jim whispers that he’s fine; a most familiar sentiment from him, usually in order to quell Spock’s concern for his well-being.

“Come,” Spock says, leading the way to the elevator. Jim’s normal color is returning, which Spock is grateful for. As they ascend, Jim stands close to Spock enough that their shoulders are touching again. Spock cannot help that shiver of anticipation that courses through him when Jim intertwines his fingers with Spock’s at their side before he brings their joined hands up before them. It is a brazen action, even in the confines of the elevator, but Spock cannot stop him. He won’t; not when Jim begins to run his fingers over Spock’s palm, the barest of touches that increases the tension between them. Spock imagines he can feel the whorls of his fingertips against his skin and is gratified that Jim is similarly affected. He is flushed again, but not from the heat.

The walk to his apartment, once the elevator stops, is far too long, and Spock barely has time to close the door before Jim surges against him and kisses him hard. His data-pads and Jim’s jacket slip to the floor. Spock sobs at the press of Jim’s heated lips against his own before he dives into his mouth, revelling in the taste of this man.

“T’hy’la, I missed you,” he whispers in between kisses. Spock has spent a career learning how to wield words, but now he finds them lacking, worthless to properly express what this man, this moment, means to him. As they are all he has, he mutters them against Jim’s lips and the curve of his neck, even as his hands find their way to skin beneath his uniform tunic. He is touching, kissing, feeling Jim, Spock thinks, amazed. Jim’s death left behind a hunger that has never left him and now, feeling this man against him, Spock sobs as it is finally sated. He grew used to being one half of an unfinished whole. He thought that was all he had left to be without Jim and their bond.

“Spock…Spock…” Jim soothes, kissing his cheeks. When he meets Spock’s lips after, he tastes of salt and tears; his own, Spock realizes, the dampness on his cheeks registering. Jim presses his forehead against Spock’s, and Spock cannot resist reaching for his face, for his mind. Jim leans into the touch, but … Spock finds his mind is out of reach. His own reels from being so close to tasting the deepest thoughts of Jim’s mind, yet being prevented at the very last from being able to touch it. There is something blocking Jim’s thoughts from him, something he does not understand at all. Spock starts to withdraw when he falls into the love burning on the surface of Jim’s mind; the secure knowledge that they will find their way through this. It wars with Jim’s fear at what is happening to him.

“I can’t feel you. What’s wrong, why can’t I feel you?”

Jim’s voice is pained as it draws Spock completely out from his meld. He steps away from Jim, opening the distance between them. It is easier to think if he is not distracted by touching him.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Spock says, and Jim’s expression tightens. “Come inside.” Spock leads Jim further into the apartment and into the small living room. Jim follows, never letting Spock go, his fingers gripping Spock’s tightly. Spock is in no hurry to let go either, and in the living room, he gives in and pulls Jim close. They stand like that, breathing in the scent of each other.

“I can’t feel our bond,” Jim whispers, pained. Deep lines mar his brow. Spock kisses his forehead, his cheek and then his lips, hoping it is reassuring.

“When you died, Jim, our bond died with you.” There is no gentler way to explain, and Jim’s anguish flows over Spock when he does. He gathers Jim close, pressing the other man against his body. Over his shoulder, Spock spies a Starfleet cap still sitting on the living room table; in a corner, just where his former lover left it. Leaving it there served as a reminder of what he had wrongly fallen into, and lost, with the younger Jim, and he could not put it away. He cringes at the thought of his Jim seeing that because now, with Jim in his arms, nothing else matters.

“There is something in your mind, a barrier, preventing me from deepening a meld,” Spock continues, keeping his voice steady at the fear in Jim at his explanation. Jim’s eyes widen and he pulls away from Spock. His lips thin, shock settling over his face. “We will find out what that is.”

“This is wrong, this is all wrong,” Jim mutters. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain etched into the lines in his face.

“Jim…”

“Tell me about us…them here, in this reality,” Jim asks, surprising Spock with the change in the direction of their conversation. “I want to know.”

“They are young, impetuous,” Spock replies, concern growing at how their conversation has changed so abruptly. There is a possibility that the thing keeping him from a deep meld with Jim affected his other faculties. “They will find their way.” Spock hopes it’s enough for he does not wish to bring them into their time when Jim may be in need of medical attention. That Jim is young, caught up in something he will not admit is Spock’s fault from an ill-fated meld on Delta Vega. His Jim offers him a thin smile.

“It’s good to know some things don’t change.” There is a sadness there that Spock does not understand. The lines around Jim’s eyes deepen, his mouth turning down. It is Spock that is impetuous now, going to Jim and kissing him deeply.

“I miss you. Every day, I miss you,” Jim whispers against his lips. Spock whimpers at the declaration, before he seeks out Jim’s mouth again.

The communications console in the corner beeps once, but Spock ignores it.

“Spock…”

“Ignore it…” Spock murmurs, “you may need medical attention. We should go to the Medical Corps.” Jim looks worried at that, before he shakes his head.

In the background, Spock hears his communication console signal that it is recording.  
Spock, his younger counterpart’s voice, fills the room.

“This is Spock…” He pauses and Spock wishes he would just cease altogether. His younger counterpart has maintained his relationship with Spock, despite the destruction of his relationship with Jim. The young Commander feels a sense of responsibility towards him, no matter how much Spock has tried to change his mind.

His Jim grows still at the voice.

“That is my younger self. He calls every so often to make sure I am doing well.” There is no amusement at that from Jim as Spock thought there would be.

“I regret to inform you…” his other self continues, before a long sigh fills the room. That gains Spock’s attention as he turns around to the machine. Concern floods him and he lets his Jim go. A moment passes, a long moment, before his counterpart continues and Spock realizes he is afraid of what is coming next.

“During our last mission, the Enterprise passed through the Galactic Barrier. I regret to inform you that Jim…was changed as a result. He has been manifesting a variety of powers since then,” the Commander continues. “He asked to be brought to you for help, but upon our arrival he disappeared.”

Spock closes his eyes as the young Commander continues.

He steps away from Jim because he knows what’s coming. His heart resists, rages, while the pieces, odd pieces of the afternoon, fall into place.

“There was a report that he was seen in the square at the Academy with you. I am with Sarek as we are trying to ascertain his whereabouts. If you see him or are with him, please contact my father’s offices.” The Commander signs off after that, and the resulting silence is deafening.

A lie, all of it a lie. Spock finds his breathing laboured, his body aching as if after a physical assault. He goes over their time together…all of it an act. His heart breaks, a raw gaping wound where moments before he was actually hopeful. Jim had even blocked his attempt at a deep meld, playing to Spock’s concerns for him. Spock is reminded of Gary Mitchell, who thought he was a God too, playing with his Jim and the Enterprise as if they were toys.

From the Commander’s message, it seems he was the only one who saw his Jim Kirk in the square. No one reacted to a Starfleet officer in a uniform they had never seen before because that is not what they saw. They must have seen Captain Kirk, hero of this Federation. Telepathy, Spock reasons; even as he cringes at the thought of Jim taking such a precious memory from him; lifting it from his thoughts and bringing it to life. All of it just an act staged for his benefit.

Spock opens his eyes and does not find his Jim standing in his living room.

Instead there is a young Jim Kirk, with eyes that flash silver; a cold flat silver. The Starfleet Command uniform fades and civilian attire appears in its place before Jim smirks.

“Did I get it right? Was I ‘Jim Kirk’ enough for you?” The question is mocking, as cold as his smirk.

“How dare you?” Spock snarls. “How dare you?” His hands curl and rage wells in him. Jim does not answer, but the smirk fades. “What did you think you would accomplish by wearing his face?” Spock spits. “Did you wish to hurt me for ending our relationship?” Jim wilts in the face of his rage, stepping back from Spock. How did they get here? a distant part of him wonders. That they could have been lovers once, is impossible to believe. But then Jim seems to recover and a cold, scornful expression settles over his face.

“I gave you what you wanted, the ‘real’ Jim Kirk,” he hisses, his voice low and venomous. “The one you left me for.” Spock starts at that, at the pain in his voice before Jim’s eyes turn blue. He looks scared, Spock thinks, before a small part of him acknowledges that he does not think that Jim could have faked the emotions he felt through their afternoon together. Any other time he would stop to consider what he felt, but he cannot look past Jim’s actions. Spock would expect something like this from Gary, twisted by the power from the Barrier. Horror flares in Jim’s eyes before they change to silver again. The room shudders, its contents trembling, while Jim’s breath quickens.

Spock ruthlessly suppresses a glimmer of concern for Jim. “Control yourself,” he hisses, grabbing Jim before the shuddering stops. The power is different and the same, Spock thinks remembering how Gary and Elizabeth Dehner behaved. He theorized that the power had augmented and twisted their basic personalities; Elizabeth had resisted in the end, but Gary had let it consume him. Spock had never had the chance to prove his theories, but one thing is certain, this day, Jim, twisted the one thing he held most dear, because he hadn’t gotten what he wanted from Spock.

Jim winces, glancing blankly at Spock’s hand on his arm, but then his eyes change to blue again and Spock lets him go.

The room stops trembling. “I just wanted you to say goodbye,” Jim breathes, confusion lacing his words. He looks around as if realizing where he is for the first time. “If you said goodbye, you could move on…” He gasps painfully before his voice trails off as his eyes flash to silver again. With him, Spock supplies silently, knowing where this conversation is going. It is the same path their last conversation took when he ended their relationship. In this moment, he cannot bring himself to think how he ever could love Jim. Jim closes his eyes and presses his hand to his temple.

Spock’s own head begins to throb like it did in the square. It was all Jim, he thinks in horror. “You caused my headache, in the square.”

“I wanted your last memory of him,” Jim admits, wincing “but I can’t quite control these powers very well yet.” He struggles to control his emotions, but his expression, his blue eyes, telegraph his pain. “He’s always there, in your thoughts. I didn’t have to dig deep to find him at all.”

He almost sounds reasonable, Spock thinks. It explains everything Jim did this day, but the feel of his Jim burns in his mind too brightly. Spock knows he hurt Jim when he ended their relationship, as his confession that he had been searching for his Jim in the other man had. He had known the consequences of his confession and chose to willingly bear them because he could not, and would not, lie to Jim or himself anymore. Jim had been furious, as Spock had known he would be. He had insisted that his feelings were real and not an after-effect of their meld, that Spock’s were too, but Spock had not relented in his decision to end their relationship.

He deserved Jim’s hatred, he deserved Jim’s contempt, but he did not deserve this; no matter if it was borne out of some misguided, twisted version of Jim’s love.

“You hurt me… ” he begins, before Jim shakes his head violently.

“No,” Jim says, his voice strained. His hands are curled into fists as his eyes hover between silver and blue again. His body curls in on itself as he struggles to regain his control before his eyes settle on blue. “I never wanted that. I was going to tell you what happened and give you a chance to say goodbye. I was going to give him to you…but, I couldn’t.”

“Give him to me?” Spock parrots. “You deliberately sought to deceive me. You made me see his face while you pretended to be him!”

“Yes,” Jim replies without hesitation. “I was willing to try anything that would make you just…” His voice trails off tiredly as he gives up finishing that sentence.

“Why didn’t you reveal yourself to me?” Spock demands, his anger intensifying at half an answer.

“Because you loved him, Spock, that’s why,” Jim says, his voice bitter. Spock pauses at that, seeing for the first time shades of Elizabeth more than Gary. Jim is still there, but Spock finds it does not matter to him.

“From the moment you met me in the square, I could see how much you loved him; I could feel it. You had him back …and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth.” Jim shakes his head laughing bitterly. “You should be glad I am absolutely convinced I will never be the Jim Kirk you want. Everything you want is up here,” he says, tapping his temple. “You don’t want anything real.”

“No, you will never be him,” Spock agrees, his voice steady and ignoring Jim’s last comment. He relishes it when Jim flinches, but it is short-lived because Jim begins to laugh. This time his eyes are still …blue.

“You can stay here deluding yourself, Spock,” he says gesturing at the apartment disdainfully. “Go teach your classes and pretend you’re not stuck in the memory of a dead man and a reality you’re not getting back to. You barely live in this one. You make excuses for yourself, you tell people that you have responsibilities to the Academy? Get over it, they’re Vulcans; they’ll do just fine without you.” Jim shakes his head, laughing coldly. “Don’t you get it? You don’t belong here, Spock; everyone knows it. If you were gone, Sarek and Spock would mourn you, but their lives would go on. They wouldn’t miss the feel of your body or your mind; or the sound of your voice. Life would go on for them.”

Spock reels back from his tirade, flushing angrily at his words and that which he left unsaid. “Your actions speak louder than your words, Jim,” Spock returns, his voice cold.

Jim shakes his head, disbelief written in his expression before he catches sight of the cap he left here so long ago. Jim laughs then, a loud bark of disbelief before he picks it up. “I used to think you actually did feel something for me and that you were just too fucking afraid to admit it. But I was wrong. I get that now.”

Spock flushes, looking away quickly. Jim throws the cap at him and Spock lets it fall to the floor. There is only one way to try and end this. He hurries to the communication console, dialling Sarek’s offices quickly.

“He’s here. Come and get him as I doubt I’ll be able to hold him with any success,” he says when the Commander picks up and he recognizes his voice. There is a long silence over the line, one in which Spock dares to look at Jim. He is sitting on the couch, his head bent over his knees.

When the Commander speaks, his voice is gentle. “He asked to be brought here because he knows he needs help to control what’s happening to him. He is not going anywhere else.” At that, the Commander disconnects. Spock glances at the machine, unsure what to make of that.

“I gave Spock command of the ship when this happened,” Jim says, lifting his head up and sinking back into the couch. “Starfleet has me on indefinite leave until I gain some control over these powers, but I know I’m not getting the Enterprise back. Starfleet is never going to let me anywhere near her again.”

“How do you know that?”

“Would you let a man with the powers like this near a starship?” Jim asks, the question scathing. “I know I wouldn’t, especially since I can’t control them very well. And I don’t want to risk the Enterprise, or the lives of my…” Jim pauses, before he amends, “Spock’s crew.”

The declaration is final and Spock feels the destiny he promised Jim fade away. “Why are you here, Jim?” Spock asks, despite the Commander’s…Captain’s conversation. “What help can you receive here?”

“These powers are tied into my emotions,” Jim says, snorting in derision at his situation. “Where else am I going to learn to control them? Your scientists are already wetting themselves in anticipation of trying to figure out what this is and what I can do.”

Jim breathes, long and deep, before he asks his next question. Spock can hear the fear in his voice.

“What happened in your reality?”

“Am I correct in assuming there is no Gary Mitchell or Elizabeth Dehner on the Enterprise currently?” When Jim shakes his head, Spock continues. “In my reality, they had the highest Esper ratings of the Enterprise crew and were affected by the Barrier when we passed through it.”

“I guess I’m the lucky winner this time around,” Jim laughs hollowly. “What happened to your crewmembers?”

“They perished before we could fully understand their powers. Your … powers shouldn’t be tied into your emotional well-being.” Jim’s face twists at that and Spock knows he has said the wrong thing.

“Well, they are. I apologize for not following the script from your reality, Spock. Life would be much simpler for you if I did, wouldn’t it?” he spits. The contents of his room begin to shudder again. The accusation stings, but Spock does not refute it.

“I need help, Spock. I’m not going to risk killing someone because I can’t control these powers,” he says, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Did you really think I would risk hurting someone?”

“After today, I don’t know what to think of you,” Spock says.

Jim flinches, before he shrugs. “Think whatever you want, Spock. I’m not going to try and convince you otherwise.”

His skin is still slick with sweat, Spock realizes, and his concern grows a little. Before he can ask any more about it, a chime sounds signaling someone is at the door. Jim rises quickly, brushing past him to open it. In the doorway are a very worried Dr McCoy and…his alternate self in Command gold.

There is no destiny in this reality, Spock thinks, looking at the other Vulcan.

“Dammit Jim,” McCoy curses softly and starts running his tricorder over him. He barely acknowledges Spock’s presence. They are both wearing mobile transporter units on their arms, an easy solution to getting there before Jim could leave.

“I’m fine, Bones,” he replies, exiting the apartment. Spock watches as the Commander…no, Captain, he corrects himself, hands Jim a transporter unit which he attaches to his clothes. Dr McCoy continues his scanning as Jim hurries further down the hall and away from Spock. He remains in the doorway. It is still easy enough to watch Dr McCoy and Jim.

“No, you’re not ‘fine’,” Bones mutters, loudly enough for Spock to hear. He frowns, digging in his medical kit for a hypo-spray. An argument begins, Jim countering the need for the medical intervention and Dr McCoy disagreeing with everything he says. Neither notices the Captain pulling Spock to one side.

“I know you and he parted on…difficult terms,” the Captain begins, his words delicate as he describes the end of their relationship, “but he needs your help. He was insistent that you were the only person that could help him. Sarek is arranging for the scientists and laboratory to aid you in researching these powers to aid him in controlling them.” The young Captain is concerned, that much is obvious, but he has not spent the afternoon reliving a long-held grief because of Jim. Spock has nothing more left to give him.

“I believe with the assistance of your father, you will be able to help him,” Spock says. The Captain’s face falls, an indication of the depths of his concern for Jim, before he schools his expression. Clearly he expected a different reaction but Spock does not have the strength in him to give him a different answer.

“We’re going now,” Jim’s voice rings out, cutting off any further comment from the Captain. The Captain joins Jim and the Doctor, but Spock closes the door of his apartment before the hum of the transporter dies.

He is alone again.


End file.
